


Baby Smooth and Ready To Go

by AdamantSteve



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, Felching, Hints of Ageplay, M/M, Reunion Sex, Rimming, Waxing, post undercover sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 07:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's been undercover for a few weeks in a college. When it comes time to go home with his much older looking, professor-type boyfriend, both Clint and Phil discover some kinks they didn't know they had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Smooth and Ready To Go

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by Dunicha but then messed around a little by me (as always) so any remaining spelling/grammar issues are all on me.  
> Dustbear gave this a look too but I don't know if she did anything to it? If there's any particularly brilliant turn of phrase it was probably her. 
> 
> I wrote this AGES ago and never got around to posting it!! I'm the worst.

Undercover in a college would have been a gig that the Clint Barton of the past would have jumped at the chance to take - sniffing out an experimental chem lab drug ring as only a fake-student can; a cake-walk mission and the always fun opportunity to discuss Lord of the Rings with college stoners, pranking douchey trust-fund kids and being freakishly good at hackysack… But he’s too old now, and as superficially fun as it is, now he has things and people to miss, and he finds that he misses them.

 

It's only a few weeks of pretending to know what the lecturers are talking about and partying with moronic fratboys until it wraps up and Phil comes to take him home for debriefing (heh), though it feels like longer. Three solid weeks of shaving twice a day and wearing ridiculously low slung skinny jeans, hair flopping into his eyes and trainers instead of his standard issue heavy boots, and he's glad to be going back to being a proper adult.

 

Phil's leaning on the side of his ridiculous sports car when Clint comes out of his dorm and he stops to just look at the man, arms and ankles crossed with a look of proprietary smugness on his face. He's wearing jeans and one of his blazers, the kind that make him look like a professor, and since it's a day off he's wearing glasses instead of contacts, which only adds to the scholarly effect. He watches as Clint pulls at the strap of his bag, waiting for him to get over there. Clint grins and feels all bashful, ducking his head as a pleased little bloom of happiness warms his face. 

 

He takes a deep breath and makes his way over, trying to decide what Phil expects him to do. Technically he's still undercover, and he guesses if any of the half-friends he's made saw him they'd maybe assume he was some kind of sugardaddy, which makes him blush even harder. He wants to run over, leap into Phil's arms and kiss him, but god, what if someone _saw_? 

 

As it is, he gets there and Phil smiles, pulls him into a warm, tight hug and then pats him on the back a couple of times until Clint lets go. "C'mon kiddo," he says, and slips away to walk around the car and get in.

 

The comfortingly familiar smell of the little air freshener things Phil diligently replaces every couple of weeks make Clint feel instantly at home. Phil slaps a hand onto Clint's knee and squeezes it briefly before letting go to rev the engine. They drive through the leafy campus and Clint's not even sure why he feels so flushed and nervous, but Phil seems to be feeling it too because a heavy silence fills the space. Clint swallows and watches Phil's hands smooth over the leather of the steering wheel, as sure as they are in whatever they do. Phil catches him looking and then looks away again. 

 

"You look like a sexy professor," Clint says in the end, because he can't think about anything else. 

Phil chuckles and bites his lip. "Well, you look like jailbait."

Clint snorts and then abruptly stops whatever he was about to say when Phil puts his hand back on his knee. But he pulls away again and looks intently back at the road. 

"You're into it," Clint accuses, biting his lip and grinning in delight when Phil fixes him with an expression that is anything but denial. "You dirty old man."

Phil shakes his head and looks back at the road. "Dressed like that you make me _feel_ like a dirty old man. You look so fucking _young_." 

 

Clint reaches across the console to press a hand to Phil's crotch, letting out a tiny gasp when he feels how hard Phil is. 

"To be fair," Phil says as Clint kneads the seam of his pants, "I haven't seen you in three weeks so you could look like garbage and I'd be hard for you." 

"Not this hard," Clint counters, and Phil doesn't deny it. 

 

Clint reaches his other hand across to work the button on Phil's jeans open, but Phil stops him with a hand of his own. "Not in the car." 

The frustrated groan Clint makes is petulant and undignified. "Seriously?"

"Not in the car," Phil repeats, and _god_. Clint sits back and knocks his head against the headrest, reaching into his pants to rearrange his own erection so it's not quite so excruciating. "Jesus, Clint," Phil huffs.

"I'm just rearranging my junk! Gosh. What do you want me to do? Aside from die of blue balls, of course."

"I thought you were gonna jerk off," Phil murmurs, eyes flicking from the road to Clint and back again. 

"I can if you want."

"No!" Phil laughs. The hand finds Clint's knee again and stays there this time, warm and reassuring and not doing much to dissuade Clint's hard-on. 

 

-

 

Clint barely gets in the door when Phil tackles him, pinning him to the wall and attacking his mouth. Clint clings on, kissing back as hard as he can and moaning when Phil presses his whole body against his.

When Phil leans back he rakes his eyes over Clint, and says, "I don't know if I should tell you to go do your homework or take you to bed." 

" _Phil_ ," Clint chuckles, but Phil shakes his head. 

"Look at you. What are you doing with an old man like me?" 

 

"I like older men," Clint explains with a grin. "Hot older men who look like professors and drive nice cars. That like when I call them 'Daddy'." 

Phil shuts him up with a kiss, pressing close again and stretching his hands down to grope at Clint's ass. His pants are low, half of his ass hanging out in bright purple underwear and Phil slips a hand easily under them to get a handful of-- "Did you _wax_?"

 

Clint stares for a second while his brain comes back online enough to form a sentence. "Yeah. Frat initiation. Smooth as a cueball. Do you mi-" 

He's cut off by another kiss, somehow even harder than the last, Phil plundering his mouth so hard Clint's not sure if he's mad or just mad turned on. 

" _Do_ you mind? It'll grow back." 

"Shut up Clint. Jesus Christ. I need to fuck you right this minute." 

"So... you like it?" 

Phil just looks at him, like the answer's obvious even though Clint's still not sure what the verdict is. " _Yes_ ," Phil says in exasperation, but then he falters again. "Do you?" 

Clint shrugs. "Yeah." Then he bites his lips, lets Phil kiss him again before looking down and then up through his lashes. "I like whatever you like, Daddy." 

 

Phil swears and assaults his face again with hot lips and sharp weekend stubble that burns against Clint's cleanshaven face. “I like good boys on their knees,” he growls, making Clint shiver in his arms even as he smirks and sinks downwards. 

“Like this?” he asks, doing his best impression of innocence. Phil swallows hard above him, half hesitant - half dark-eyed promise. Clint’s never going to get tired of being able to make Phil Coulson look at him like that. 

 

Phil’s hand is steady as he undoes the button on his pants and eases the zip down, eyes boring into Clint’s even as he pulls his cock out, firm and thick. Clint looks at it and salivates, licking his lips before looking back up to Phil’s dark eyes again. “What else do you like?” 

Phil presses forward to daub precome over Clint’s bottom lip as he answers, “I like when you lick my cock.”

 

It feels like it’s been forever, years and years since Clint’s felt the comforting weight of Phil’s perfect cock on his tongue, sliding in to fill him up. He hums around it happily, arms coming up to hold onto the back of Phil’s knees to steady himself so he can move back and forth on it, press forward until it hits the back of his throat. 

 

“That’s right,” Phil murmurs from up above him, one hand landing on Clint’s shoulder as the other works it’s way into his hair. “You miss that?” 

 

Clint hums an affirmative, eyes drifting closed as Phil tightens his fingers just enough in his hair to make his cock twitch in his too-tight jeans. He’s been hard so long it aches, but it’s only Phil pulling his hair to make him slip off of his cock and telling him, “Show me how much you missed it,” that has Clint scrabbling with his fly and palming himself. 

 

It’s embarrassingly soon that Clint feels the tang of orgasm building behind his balls and he pulls away to lick at the head of Phil’s cock and pant that he’s gonna come. It has precisely the opposite effect that Clint had hoped for, because Phil pulls back, holding Clint where he is with his hand still fisted in Clint’s hair. “Not yet, boy.” 

‘Boy’ nearly has Clint coming anyway, which is hardly fair, but he grips the base of his cock and whines, looking up to see that Phil’s probably close to coming too judging by how flushed he is. Apparently this dynamic is working for him as much as it is for Clint, because the next thing he says is, “You don’t get to come until my dick is inside that smooth little hole of yours.”

 

“Yes,” Clint says, swallowing and licking his lips as he decides whether to add ‘daddy’ or not, which is new, and weird, and somehow hotter than the sun. But Phil interrupts anyway. 

“Yes what?”

“Y-yes, daddy.” 

 

He grunts a little at that and Clint wonders why he hesitated at all. 

 

Phil lets go of his hair and hauls him up to kiss him, a hard, biting play of dominance as much as anything else, then dragging him down the hall to their bedroom. “Phil,” Clint says breathlessly, unsure of what exactly he wants, just sure that he wants Phil to take care of him, cause he didn’t realise before just how much he missed him being here, pushing him around and pressing him down onto the bed. Careful but pushy, loving even as he’s slapping Clint’s ass and pulling off his pants. 

 

The next thing is Phil’s tongue on Clint’s asshole and murmured noises about how smooth and clean he is. “Have you been good?” Phil asks between running his tongue up and down the crack of Clint’s ass. It takes a moment for Clint to realise its a question and needs an answer.

 

“Depends what you mean by good,” he says eventually, grinning at the hard slap it earns him and the finger that starts working it’s way into him. 

“Have you let anyone else touch this ass while you were away?” 

“Only when the fratboys were waxing it,” Clint answers truthfully. Phil moans again and Clint wriggles to see if it’ll earn him any more slaps or fingers. It does, Phil chiding him for being so eager, a wanton little slut just begging for a fucking. 

 

“I missed you,” Clint says out of nowhere, worrying as soon as he says it that it’ll ruin this… thing that’s going on, because he really likes what’s happening here, but Phil leaves his fingers inside him and presses his body over Clint’s to kiss his neck and then Clint’s lips when he turns his head. “I missed you too,” he says, serious and fond in equal measure. 

It’s sweet, the silence that follows, and Clint’s kind of bad at sweet, so he wiggles his ass again and tips his chin. “I also missed your fat cock in my ass.” 

“Me too,” Phil replies, pecking Clint on the lips again before moving away and adding another finger. “Missed opening you up,” he carries on, “feeling how hot and tight you are around me, how you let me in -”

“Only you,” Clint interrupts, as if that could ever be in question. 

“Only me,” Phil agrees. “Pass me the lube?” He adds, staying right where he is and waiting for Clint to stretch out beneath him for the nightstand. One warm hand rubs it’s way down Clint’s back as he fumbles in the drawer, the other sliding in and out of Clint’s ass. Clint huffs and finally grabs the bottle, passing it back to Phil and shifting backwards, canting his hips and grasping for a pillow. Phil grabs one first and pushes it under Clint’s hips before truly slicking up his hand, the slide of his fingers suddenly warmer and wetter, but still not enough.

 

“C’mon,” Clint whines shortly. All he wants - all he needs, is Phil’s weight on top of him - that’s what he thought about all those lonely nights in his little single bed, the heavy weight of his lover bearing down on top of him, keeping him right there in the safety of his embrace. 

“But you’re so smooth,” Phil marvels again, sliding fingers around and making Clint shiver. 

“Yeah, I know but it’ll feel just as smooth on your dick I promise!”

Phil laughs, two little huffs through a smile at first before he starts belly laughing, and wow, ok maybe that’s what Clint missed the most; Phil never laughs with anyone else the way he does with Clint. He leans up on one elbow and glares back at Phil, a mock outrage that lasts barely a second in the face of Phil’s adoring expression. 

 

“Sorry, did you want me to use my cock?” Phil asks, tipping his head and slowly grinning as Clint whines in frustration. But he moves anyway, a familiar weight setting behind Clint and moving his legs just where he wants them and then, glory be, sliding slowly in. 

It’s all Clint can do not to slam back onto him, impale himself on the cock that his ass has missed, but then Phil’s hands are on his hips anyway, freaky mind reading psychic that he is. And then he’s in, after either seconds or an eternity, Phil’s wiry pubic hair rough against the babysmooth skin it meets on Clint and even better for it. 

“Oh, Phil,” Clint whispers, sounding like the fey lady heroines of the trashy novels Natasha secretly loves. “Ohh…” 

Phil’s answer is lips on Clint’s neck and then teeth in his shoulder, gently scraping their way around, hands sliding over Clint’s ribs before holding him tightly, the hair on Phil’s chest warm on Clint’s back. 

 

He fucks Clint hard and slow, a rhythm at once filthy and sweet. Clint can’t say much else besides ‘oh’ and soft little sighs as he falls apart, glad he’s facing away from Phil for fear he really will fall apart if he looks at him right now. 

 

“Perfect,” Phil says against Clint’s neck, the movement of his lips ticklish against Clint’s naked skin. “My perfect boy, so sweet, so good. I missed you so much, so so much…” The words start breaking down as his speed picks up, and Clint’s back is cold when Phil moves away to hold Clint’s hips and truly fuck him. A hand presses against the middle of Clint’s shoulder blades and down he goes, burying his face in the blankets beneath him to moan and writhe to his heart’s content. He doesn’t even think about his own cock, Phil’s inside him and that's enough to think about for now, rubbing slick over his prostate as perfect as everything else Phil ever does to him. He might come, he might not, right now Clint doesn’t care, he just wants this, Phil connected to him so brilliantly intimately, he wants it to last forever.

 

But then Phil’s over him again, muttering choked off promises into Clint’s skin. “Gonna come inside you, sweetheart, you’d like that?” Its not really a question but Clint wordlessly nods anyway and tries to turn his head for a kiss, but Phil’s too near even as his hips piston back and forth. He’s not done yet anyway, licking Clint’s neck before continuing, “And I’ll eat you out after, get my tongue on that perfect little fucked out hole of yours,” and Clint says ‘Oh’ again because it’s all he _can_ say. This time when he turns his head, Phil moves to let him, and they kiss hard and biting as Phil’s hips fuck back and forth three more times and then stutter as he comes, shivering and holding Clint tight as he empties himself inside. 

 

“Phil,” Clint says weakly when the deadweight on top of him starts to get too much. “Are you alive?” 

Phil chuckles softly, weakly and he nods. “Might be in heaven.” 

“Pretty sexy heaven,” Clint replies as Phil levers away and draws out of Clint slowly. Clint leans up and watches Phil’s flushed, sex-sated face gaze over his handiwork and back up Clint’s body slowly, like he’s drinking it in after a drought. Clint starts to turn over, reaching for his cock but Phil’s forehead creases as he reaches out to still him. “Hey,” he says reproachfully. “Stay still.” 

 

Clint’s confused for a moment and then, oh right, Phil _did_ say - he flips Clint himself and pushes his legs up, the movement itself making cum start to slide out of Clint’s loose hole. Phil dips his head and laps it up before pressing his tongue right where his cock just was and Clint yelps and says ‘oh!’ again, because he’d not really thought that whole thing was anything more than a little in-action commentary. But he looks down in time to see Phil spit into his hand, cum and saliva and lube, before wrapping it around Clint’s cock. He goes back to licking and sucking, nose sweetly tucked between Clint’s balls as he jerks Clint off slowly, everything at once just enough to tip Clint over the edge. Phil’s tongue doesn’t stop even as Clint feels himself clamp down around it, coming all over his own belly and Phil’s fist as he keeps moving. His _oh’s_ turn into a long drawn out moan and then a sob, til he’s wrung out and sure his balls must be empty. Phil licks across them anyway on his way back up, cause he’s an efficient guy, that Phil Coulson. 

 

“Definitely in heaven now,” Clint murmurs weakly. 

 

Phil wipes his mouth and his hands on Clint’s discarded underwear before appearing at Clint’s side and settling down, laid out beside him. Clint tries to kiss him but he ducks his mouth out of the way, as if Clint cares if he tastes like ass. “After I brush my teeth,” Phil promises. Clint wants to protest some more but can’t when he’s being pulled to Phil’s chest and his hair is being stroked the way it is. 

 

In a little while, Phil kisses Clint’s forehead (why is that ok? Clint would whine if he had the energy) and hauls them both off the bed for the shower, brushing his teeth til Clint pulls the toothbrush away from him for minty-fresh kisses. It’s too soon for anything more yet, though they don’t stray too far from one another, Clint running suds through the hair on Phil’s chest as he lathers up Clint’s hair for him. It’s just right, exactly how it ought to be, and the quiet domesticity of their subsequent pyjama’ed snuggling on the couch quells something in Clint’s chest he wasn’t able to identify before; he didn’t realise it til now but he was homesick, and now hes home. Phil catches Clint looking at the edge of his tshirt where it’s frayed a little and smiles in question. “I’m glad to be home,” Clint says with a smile of his own. 

“Me too,” Phil agrees.

They smile at one another til Clint suddenly remembers something. "Weren't you supposed to debrief me?" he asks.

Phil look back at him blankly. "Oh yeah."

And then their laughter rings out so warm and sweet it's like honey on Clint's tongue.

 


End file.
